Crossroads
by Alamo Girl
Summary: They were at a crossroads - an inevitability in all relationships. Goren and Eames were long overdue.


**Disclaimer:** As usual, I own nothing. I borrow for fun, and with the hopes that Dick Wolf et. al. have better things to do with their time than read fanfiction.

**A/N:** If it wasn't for the discussion I've enjoyed with the wonderfully talented **Piaffe417**, this story would have never seen the light of day. Also, **Piaffe** was generous enough to allow me to tie into her brilliant story "**Fortunate**" – so look for the not so subtle thread of connection (and it's not just that we used the same song in our openers). I thank her and all her brilliant musings for the help, and for letting me jump on her bandwagon. Seriously, we need to write more _L&O CI_ stories together. ENJOY!

"**Crossroads"**

"_You used to talk to me like  
__I was the only one around.  
__You used to lean on me like  
__The only other choice was falling down."  
_"_Used To_" by Daughtry

She used to look forward to going to work each morning. There was something to be said for finding a job that one enjoyed – though perhaps _enjoyed_ is too strong a word. Given the often grueling hours and grizzly scenes of inhumanity they were forced to deal with day in and day out, most would think '_enjoyed'_ would be the _last_ descriptive detectives would use for their job; knowing what they had to see, one would think they cursed each morning and everything in sight. She used to wake each morning, safe in the knowledge that she was leaving the warmth of the down comforter and her cotton sheets to do good works. She'd be leaving to right a few of the wrongs in the world – or at least try.

She used to walk out of her house each morning, safe in the unshakable certainty that when she arrived, coffee in hand and psyche shielded from whatever horrors the day might sling at her, she wouldn't be alone. Her partner would be there – notebook splayed open on a desk strewn with papers, reference books and scribbles of disjointed thoughts – with a shy smile and a quiet, "Morning" to greet her. And she could settle into her chair, ready for her day and know that his bulky, enormous form would be at her side, come what may. He would be wielding his most powerful weapon – his mind – as a part of their combined arsenal. Together, she knew they were formidable.

But now, Alex dreads going to work. For the last few weeks, since her partner came off suspension actually, every morning she's lain in bed staring at her clock with a bitterness that surprised her at first. The clock mocks her, every click of the digits chiding her that it's one minute closer to the time she has to get up. Face another day.

See _him_ again.

The acrid taste of anger sits on the back of her tongue as she gets ready for work, and she wonders if that's why she's switched from coffee to hot tea lately. Swallowing painful emotions has turned her off the acidic aftertaste of the coffee bean, she figures. Whatever the reason, the persistent bad taste in her mouth adds to her sour demeanor each morning, making her repartee with the commuter traffic even more heated. If Bobby had been in the car, some of her choice words to taxi drivers cutting her off would have made him blush ten kinds of red.

She thinks back to the last time she let him drive. They'd just left Quinn's wake, and Alex, feeling spent in more ways than one, simply allowed Bobby to guide her to the passenger side and open the door for her. It wasn't until they were actually on the road, heading back to One PP, that she realized he hadn't even asked if she wanted him to drive.

Bobby's perceptiveness to his partner's emotions had always been keen. Whether it was just after coming off maternity leave, or after she'd nearly gunned down a suspect with a starter pistol, Bobby was careful to check with her. His way was subtle, unassuming. And since their preferred method of communication over the years had become almost telepathic, he'd convey more with his eyes than his words. Asking, watching, checking to make sure she was with him.

She'd always been with him. Until recently.

Bobby has been pulling slowly, but surely away from Alex; probably, she thinks, since his mother's death. She knows that this is his normal M.O.: rather than deal with the pain of abandonment, Bobby Goren abandons first. Always under lock and key is Bobby's heart, which Alex imagines is in shreds by now. A lifetime of giving little pieces of it to the job, to his family, without really realizing it, and there must be precious little left for Bobby himself.

Alex used to feel secure however, for no matter how bad it got, Bobby always came back to her in one way or another. A phone call from him late at night, for no other reason than for him to be assured that someone cared enough to listen. An off-handed offer for dinner after a case that struck too close to home, when he needed to decompress over Chinese food and a sympathetic, patient ear. The comfort of silence at the right time, when he needed her to simply _be_ – a presence waiting nearby while he sorted out his raucous thought processes when his world was turned upside down.

Alex knows that at one time, she used to be all these things for him. But that was in the past, and now she finds herself hating the fact that it only takes five minutes to walk from her car to the elevator that will carry her up the eleven floors to the Major Case office. She wishes it were longer.

Alex doesn't know what they are to each other now, but she knows damn well what they _aren't_: they aren't the partnership she knew. They aren't GorenandEames – one word that used to encompass Major Case's best detectives.

_Even in my mind Goren comes first_, she thinks sardonically.

Somewhere along the road, she figures, Bobby must have gotten used to putting himself first too, and forgotten to check with his more diminutive and snarky half. Alex felt the metaphorical rift in their connection become more pronounced during the Tate Corrections incident. She didn't agree with him, not by a long shot, but she also knew that there was no talking him out of it. It was family, but despite that, Bobby Goren was a six foot four pit bull with a bone when it came to cases where the ends just didn't tie up nice and neatly.

Alex chose to be the dutiful partner then, trying to watch his back by being the person he checked in with. She should have been more adamant about him not going into that nightmare, she thinks. She should have said, "No, Bobby. Let's find another way."

But she didn't, because he'd asked her with those damn eyes of his not to question him.

Alex thinks now, as she boards the elevator in the parking garage and half-heartedly presses the 'eleven' button, that Bobby is just too damn used to getting his own way. And he's always assumed – God she hates that word, _assumed_ – that loyal ol' Eames will plod along with his plans, nodding in all the right places, and smoothing over the Captain's ruffled feathers when he pisses someone off.

The only thing Alex ever assumed was that her partner trusted her.

_Boy, was she ever proven wrong_. The elevator makes a weary rattle as two more people clamor inside, causing Alex to shift to the corner and lean against it. She feels the pull of gravity as they ascend once again, and if she weren't braced against the wall, the added weight to her already encumbered being would have caused her knees to buckle.

It's not easy, after all, for a person to carry themselves _and_ six foot four inches of tortured soul… a soul who seems to have forgotten that the brace moving beneath him, helping to keep his cogs turning is Alex.

She read once that all great men have strong women behind them. For eight years, Alex Eames knows that she has filled that role for Bobby Goren without complaint. Now, she finds herself wondering if she can play that part; constantly having to pick up the shards when he crumbles because she's the only one he trusts not to miss a crucial piece. That role was hardly second nature to her at first; the hastily written letter requesting a new partner early in their relationship was proof of that.

But she'd found a working rhythm with the quirky giant, and learned that with patience, the enigma of Robert Goren would present itself. More than once, Alex had found herself flabbergasted to see Bobby's intimidating size stripped away to reveal the little boy hiding inside: shy, uncertain, and scrambling for purchase in a life that had never found stable ground.

But Alex has never considered herself a saint; even the patience of Job has its limits. And Bobby surpassed her limit of understanding when he broke her heart with the finesse of a ball-peen hammer across a mirror that day in the cell block – when he couldn't even meet her eye as she discovered he'd been undercover and never told her.

In the elevator, Alex feels her chest constrict painfully with the memory, and she crosses her arms over her chest for protection. She thinks about the words she spat in his face in the observation room. Usually one to tower over his petite partner, Alex had watched big Bobby Goren shrink – the air let out of his balloon – until, now that she thinks back, he was almost unrecognizable.

Behind the grizzle and the gray, Bobby withered in front of her, attempting to find the right words to make her understand. But Alex was past patience and past understanding. He didn't trust her. How do you have a partnership without trust? At that moment, the dynamic duo of GorenandEames was wrested in two, and Alex can't for the life of her find the strength to pick up the pieces and glue them back together.

She can't fix _them_, because she can't fix _him_ anymore.

Idly, she shakes her head, as one of the elevator's occupants gets off on his floor: she really would have liked to slap him across the face that day…even if she would have had to find a ladder to climb on to do it. But words held sharper edges than any weapon, she knew, and she'd made her point.

Alex thinks about the words Bobby chose – so very carefully – that day outside the bodega during the missing husband case. If she'd ever donned the 'cold shoulder' toward Bobby before, Alex was a goddamn polar ice cap that day. She felt the hurt radiating off him, but she batted it aside as though it were a bothersome gnat. There was confusion – _What? Did he just expect her to come back the next day and give him a hug?_ – in every movement of his body as Bobby tried to find his place by her side.

And when he finally tried to apologize – the halting, double meaning behind it as blatant as Bobby could be surrounded by uniforms in the middle of a case –Alex had to physically restrain herself from quipping, "Seriously? That's the _best_ you can do, Goren?"

Was that the best she could hope for: an awkward confirmation meant to prove that he wasn't taking her for granted? Probably so. Her partner was not an emotionally demonstrative man, saving his passion for the job, and Alex never questioned her ability to know what he was feeling, even if those feelings were never expressed.

She'd always been so careful of his feelings before. Alex knew the power she held over her enigmatic partner – a nod, or look at the right time could cement his certainties, or snap the tether and pull him back over the line he continually crossed. It was a responsibility Alex had taken on with resolution. Even when that terrible letter she wrote so long ago asking for a new partner had been shoved into the light, she was careful to apologize to Bobby. She could see the effect her past doubt and misunderstanding had on him through his posture, but his eyes were gentle and grateful that she had suck around. And that had been enough for her.

It wasn't enough now.

Alex feels the slow heat of indignation ignite in her belly again, as the elevator nears the eleventh floor, and for the first time in eight years, she allows herself to wonder what would have been if she hadn't taken back that letter. Her partner would have probably been a good cop, hard working (hopefully) and pragmatic. Maybe they'd have the occasional dinner. Maybe he'd bring her home to eat with his family; maybe she'd introduce him to hers. Perhaps they wouldn't have the highest conviction rate in Major Case, but at least she wouldn't have to work in constant red-alert mode, watching her partner for signs of distress or meltdown. Maybe she wouldn't dread every meeting with the captain like she was refereeing a prizefight.

Perhaps she'd be appreciated for her contributions. Maybe…she wouldn't feel like a footnote under a headline.

Bone numbing weariness sets in. The doors open and as the rest of the elevator's occupants depart, Alex holds back; her arms crossed over her chest as she leans against the back wall.

They were at a crossroads – an inevitability in all relationships. Alex realizes with startling clarity that she and Bobby have been long overdue for this junction. She stands at the impasse, noticing the future she once thought so clear is now hazy in the distance.

She can step off the elevator and turn left: the route that leads to her desk, forever opposite Bobby Goren's. She can continue to be mother, babysitter, best friend, sidekick, and water carrier. She'll play Watson to his Holmes, try to shepherd him away from brash actions and remain faithfully with his sinking ship.

Or she won't.

Alex considers the rocky, unknown path: staying on the elevator and continuing up to the Chief of Detective's office to make an appointment about transferring. She loves Major Case, and has worked damn hard to get to the elite of New York's finest, but how could she be expected to work in the same department – _in the same room_ – with Bobby Goren, and have another partner? She'd have to find another department, and wash her hands of the detective whose reputation to most is "_genius_", but behind closed doors he's known as the "_freak_."

For several months now, Alex has been asking herself: is it even worth it anymore? And once upon a time, her answer would have been obvious.

But now, before the doors start to slide closed with a creaking groan, Alex lets herself admit that she's so very tired of playing the little Dutch boy with his finger stuck in Goren's leaking dam.

* * *

"_I can drown out the feeling.  
__I can be numb to this.  
__If I can't feel, then I can't hurt and I can't bleed,  
__Maybe that's all I need."  
__- "Take Me Away"_ by Katie Trotta

* * *

The silver doors nearly close on her hand as she forces her body to move. For the sake of her paperwork, open cases, and everything else waiting for her on that desk in the bullpen, (and the fact that no one should make life-changing decisions in the few seconds it takes elevator doors to close) Alex makes a left turn down the well-worn path she knows too well.

As she rounds the corner, Alex finds herself hoping that Bobby isn't at his desk. Her emotions are frayed and raw, and she doesn't think she can take another stumbling moment of awkwardness that only punctuates the ever-widening space between them right now.

Besides, her mind isn't made up. The decision is a wine press, with little bits of Alex's soul oozing out from underneath.

To her immense relief, he is nowhere to be seen when she enters the bullpen. She surreptitiously glances around the room, seeing the familiar bulky frame of her partner in Captain Ross' office. Alex gauges the reactions of their superior officer, and surmises that Bobby isn't in trouble. Ross' face isn't a vivid shade of red – yet.

She hangs her coat on the stand and places her service pistol in her locker. When she turns back to her desk, Alex spies a tiny slip of paper on her blotter. Her eyes narrow as she leans in, not recognizing it at first. As she holds the slip of paper up – and curses Father Time and her need for new reading glasses – she squints at the faded, red print.

"_Stop searching for forever. Happiness is right next to you."_

She has to read it several times. Then, with all the finesse of an avalanche of grand pianos down a mountainside, it hits her. After a long day, she and Bobby used to go out for Chinese. They'd always hit the same little hole-in-the-wall – the name of which escapes her now, but she's certain it was some horrible play-on-words, like "A Wok Around the Block" or something – and while Bobby made fun of her inability to use chopsticks, the highlight of the meal was the fortune cookies. They would always read them to each other, and comment on the ridiculousness of the prophetic proverb within the cookie.

This is one Bobby kept from her. And as she looks at the words through blurring eyes, she understands why. Fighting the knot in her throat – she'll be damned if she's going to cry; not here and not now – Alex slides, boneless, into her chair, holding the tiny fortune between shaking fingers.

She knows he's kept this fortune with him for years. There are some things that cannot be said in their partnership, she knows, and Bobby obviously recognized that since he couldn't say them, he'd need to keep a reminder of those words. Alex realizes that her partner has been pondering some of the same things she has – whether or not their relationship will outlast this darkness.

Where Alex might have been wondering if it was worth the trouble, Bobby obviously thought it _was_. Actions speak louder than words, and for all the apologies Alex could have envisioned him saying, this singular act blows them all out of the water. He passed on a fortune that he'd found a long time ago and kept close to him, because in those few words, Bobby Goren was able to express what Alex meant to him. And he wanted her to see it – _now_ – as their partnership and friendship was hanging precariously by a thread.

Alex swallows thickly, and while the little fortune's words have had a profound impact on her, she knows nothing is that easy. Partnerships between members of the opposite sex are tricky beasts; theirs had been comfortably free of the deeper emotional entanglements that often resulted in one person asking for a transfer. The irony of that thought doesn't elude Alex, and she smiles to herself. Here she was, trying to make an ordered list of the pros and cons of her future with (or without) Bobby Goren – and he, of all people, goes and muddies the waters with a heart-felt action.

_Just when you think you have him figured_, she muses.

For eight years she's had his back, cemented his structures that threatened implosion and swept up the debris when they did finally explode. And lately, he's taken to breaking down walls with 'No Admittance' signs; throwing his career on land mine after land mine and forgetting to see if she's okay to follow in his shadow.

Alex Eames isn't naive enough to believe that things will change quickly (if at all). Her record already has smudges of association with Robert Goren all over it, and there is nothing she can do about that.

So, even as she runs a nail over the pink words of wisdom on the slip of paper on her desk, Alex comes back to the question that's plagued her for the last few weeks:

_Is it worth it?_

A sign post at the crossroads in her mind has changed its wording from "_how do we fix this?"_ to_ "do I even want to try?"_ And again, before she can take a step in any direction, she has to answer: _is it worth it?_

Alex glances up, careful to swipe a hand under her cheeks to erase any wayward moisture that might have escaped, and looks toward Ross' office. At that exact moment, Bobby looks up from his position – bent over the Captain's desk while they go over something Alex knows is unimportant – and his eyes connect with hers.

Alex doesn't believe in fate. Life is what you make of it, the decisions you choose and the paths you walk. She knows all too well what happens when opportunities are missed, and words that need to be said are shoved into the background. Bobby seems to know this too. He'd broken his partner's heart, shoved her away and closed doors in her face - and yet now, he seems to be grasping the moment with both hands, pushing long hidden words into the light.

She reads it in his eyes: the heart-felt apologies, the questions, the waiting. The ball is in her court now. _What's your choice, 'Lex_, she thinks. _Right or Left? _

_Is it worth it… or not?_

Alex looks at the slip of fortune once more.

And she knows.

_**-END- **_

* * *

Well? Too much? Not enough? Let me know! **Hit that review button**! You know you want to!

_HUGE THANKS_ to super beta _**Celia Stanton**_ – who inspires the muse with hilarity. And to super beta _**Meredith Paris**_, G/E lover extraordinaire.


End file.
